Authors Notes: After watching way too much of it and reading lots of fanfiction I now have a story stuck in my head, so here it is, it will be mostly from John's POV but occasionally Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg will also have their views.

There are shifters of a variety of types and humans with the physic gifts.

I will also note that there are similarities between the beginning of this story and the lovely story Werewolves in London Season One: A Study in Pink by Tiger DeRanged since we are both working with shifters of a variety, I suggest you go read hers because its well written

Any parts from the shows transcript have been lovingly gotten from Ariane DeVere's live journal because she was awesome enough to make a complete set.

Oh yeah, "speaking", -texting-, telepathy-human form, telepathy-animal or mixed form, everything else

I'm American and this is un-beta'd, anything that seems weird is probably due to those two fact (edit: though I recently had a lovely lady offer to beta for me, so if there are any mistakes its because I ignored her advice).

That should be it for long authors notes.

Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me, it belongs to BBC and Doyle.

Chapter 1
John's POV

He awoke with a start, claws digging into the mattress as he bolted upright from the nightmare he had been having. Shaking his head, he tries to clear his mind of the memories, focus on something else. It doesn't work and for a time all he can see in front of him is the harsh desert, the members of his squad, some of which are pack. The attack caused by insurgents, so many dying with injuries. Jacob taking to the air despite the risks to get them help, waking up in surgery, the pain in his shoulder, in his leg. Returning to London but not in a way he wanted.

Eventually he is able to break away from the memories and just sits on his cot staring at the wall. By time he was able to pull himself out of his thoughts he could see the pale light of the dawn coming. In the link that connects his pack he can feel Jacob distant query if he is alright. Warmth spreads through him, and he replies in kind, allowing the warmth of his personality to shine through the link before breaking away.

Later the same day, shortly after getting done seeing the psychotherapist that the military seems to think he needs to see, he is walking through a park near where he had gone to school when a familiar smell catches his attention. Glancing around, he spots a slightly heavier man sitting on a bench and grins when he recognizes him.

When he pauses the other man seems to notice him and grins, commenting, "John! John Watson!"

He turns to face him, a small smile on his face, though it does not reach his eyes, "Mike, how are you?" he queries as the man comes over to where he stands.

Grinning, he motions to a passing coffee vendor and the two friends get a drink before finding somewhere to sit down and chat for a bit. A while later, after getting past the basic catching up, Mike inquires, "What about you? Just staying in town 'till you get yourself sorted? Have you heard from Harry yet?"

He shrugs, responding, "I can't afford London on an Army pension." For a moment he pauses, considering the rather frustrating call he had gotten his first day back, their uncle had died, that left him and his cousin as the next possible alpha's but it had already been decided by the council. They preferred him to his cousin as the next alpha of the Watson pack. That meant he would have to merge his pack in with the pack of his birth. Not the easiest thing to do. "Yeah, I heard about Uncle Eric. I thought you avoided pack functions?" he asks curiously.

Mike sighs, looking out, "I do, it was embarrassing being the only non-wolf in the family, but I am still kept in the loop about important things, and the cubs still like to visit."

He nods, understanding perfectly well. Part of the reason he had entered the army was to get away from the pack's alpha for a time. He loved his family and the pack, but some of the traditions really got on his nerves, particularly those regarding children who were not born with the wolf. Like a lot of packs, the pack was family to everyone in it. Unfortunately, for those who were not born wolves or shifters, this sometimes meant that they felt left out because they were not the same, they were different. The fact that there pack was purely wolf was also frustrating, because there were plenty of other shifters that would make good pack members even though they were different types. The pack that had formed between him and some of his soldiers from Afghanistan was not purely wolf unlike the pack of his birth. His pack was made up of three wolves besides himself, his second was a falcon, two vipers, one great cat, and a mouse. It is a small pack by most standards but a good pack.

For a bit the two just watch people before Mike comments, "You know you couldn't bear to be anywhere else." He pauses for a moment before querying, "Couldn't Harry help? Your uncle left you a fair bit if I remember her last rant about your stubbornness."

He snorts, "Yeah like that's going to happen, you know me."

Shaking his head a little he shrugs, "I do, so why not get a flastshare or something?"

"Come on," he responds mildly sarcastic, "who'd want me for a flatmate?"

Mike suddenly chuckles, a thoughtful look on his face as he comments, "You're the second person to say that to me today." Pausing he glances over, "plus you know most the pack would be more than happy to have you stay with them while you get back on your feet."

He gives a single shake of his head, "You know I won't do that. So who was the first?"

His pack-mate smiles at him, standing and motioning to the nearby hospital, "Come on then," he comments.

It takes the two of them a few minutes to walk there and when they first get there Mike stops in his office to drop off his stuff before taking John down to the lab. The two of them move in companionable silence and without any show of who is alpha and who is not. When they get to the lab, Mike wraps his knuckles on the door once before pushing it open and going in with John close behind.

As they step through the door he takes in the change in all of the equipment, the smells, and even the layout muttering, "Well, bit different from my day."

Chuckling, Mike replies, "You have no idea," as he walks over and leans against the counter, his eyes sharp as they take in the scene in front of him.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There is no signal on mine." A low baritone inquires from the other end of the room as the owner of it perches on a stool.

His attention is drawn to that voice, and he nearly finds himself staring at its owner. Short black curls fan around his face, the only sign of color besides the blue-grey eyes in an otherwise porcelain colored face. He's tall, taller than nearly every member of the pack, and rather graceful with a slender nearly too thin build. Switching to his wolf sense he can tell that he is purely human despite the otherworldly feel to him.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike queries while he is studying the beautiful man.

"I prefer to text." He replies, still distracted.

Glancing at him, Mike comments, "Sorry. It's in my coat."

Wanting to get a closer look at the human, John fishes his out of his back pocket, hesitantly offering, "Er, here, use mine," and holds it out for him.

The stranger seems startled and sends a quick look at Mike as he responds, "Oh. Thank you."

He gets the impression that while he was brought up with manners, he probably rarely ever uses them. Standing, he walks over as Mike makes the introductions.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." He tells the dark-haired stranger.

He nods, accepting the phone and turning a slight bit from John. Flipping it open he starts to type on the keyboard without taking a moment to pause. John finds it amusing and gets the impression that he is not used to someone volunteering to help him.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the dark-haired human inquires distractedly, is scent more curious now.

Frowning, he glances at Mike. Mike is just smiling mischievously, so apparently he knows something is going on or about to happen, but there is no malice or fear in the smell of the room so he decides to go along with it. Looking at the dark-haired man he questions, "Sorry?"

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

His scent changes, a touch of impatience joining the curiosity, so apparently he is used to people answering sooner than later. Frowning, he glances again at Mike who is still just smiling. As his impatience's grows the dark-haired human looks up at him questioningly before returning his glance to the phone.

Finally, trying not to chuckle because he is reminded of a cub wanting something and being told he had to wait, he replies, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?" he lets his voice trail of to see what kind of answer he gets.

The human glances at him as but does not answer as his attention turns the human female who comes in and smells strongly of desire, "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." Shutting down the phone he hands it back to John, as he does so there hands touch and John is jolted by a small surge of power. His attention then turns to the human female, studying her closely as he takes the coffee and commenting, "What happened to the lipstick?"

John's gaze flickers to his hand as he puts the phone away he spots the small spiral that has appeared on his wrist. His bondmate, or at least one of the two people in this world he could bondmate. That is a bit unexpected. He had not thought that he would find them here in this place.

The female smiles at him a bit awkwardly, nervousness pouring from her, "It wasn't working for me," she replies.

Bemused, his potential bondmate accepts the cup, turning to head back to his station and muttering, "Really? I thought it was a big improvement." He pauses a moment, "your mouth's too small now."

The nervousness vanishes in disappointment, "Okay," she eventually sighs. Radiating sadness she turns and heads towards the door.

He almost doesn't notice that the next thing out of the dark-haired one's mouth is for him, "How do you feel about the violin?" he queries.

John glances at the retreating figure of the young female before realizing that the question is directed at him, again he flickers a look at Mike to see that he still has the same mischievous look on his face. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lifting his laptop on to the table he types away as he answers, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He pauses, glancing towards him, "would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." The smile he flashes is so obviously fake but he can tell that he would have a beautiful one if he was ever to let it be real instead.

His gaze shifts from the dark-haired human to Mike, a blank expression on his face. Knowing that Mike had not had a chance to say anything since they had just run into each other, he still comments, "Oh, you, you told him about me?"

Mikes mischievous smile seems to get bigger, "Not a word."

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" he asks, thinking, I wonder if he will answer me this time. I am going to have to carefully consider this situation. Flatmates with a potential bondmate? That could get into very dangerous territory or be just what is needed.

The human shuts down his laptop and then starts to put on his great coat replying, "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult of a leap." He had put emphasis on the I, as if trying to prove that he did not need someone else to tell him things.

Giving him a blank look he questions, "How did you know about Afghanistan?" as he carefully smells the air again. Now that he has been identified as a potential bondmate he can smell even more from him, including the soft musk of purity and an overly smell of the city.

He ignores the question, instead taking the time to wrap his scarf around his neck and picking up his phone of the table. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." he comments as he checks the phone. Turning, he walks towards John commenting, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He continues pasted him, heading towards the door as he puts his phone in a pocket.

"Is that it?" he queries turning to watch him go and knowing that he really does not want this particular human to leave. He is making sure that he can trace him anywhere, getting a feel for his aura, his life presence.

While he seems outwardly calm, the scent he gives off is frustrated, almost annoyed yet full of curiosity. Turning back to him the dark-haired one strolls over towards him, his voice deceptively calm as he asks, "Is that what?"

Enjoying the scent of his frustration he replies, "We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?" the frustration seems to have gone just a bit higher.

He smiles in disbelief, eyes flickering to his childhood friend who cannot seem to get control of the mischievous look he is giving. "We don't know a thing about each other," he comments, "I don't know where we're meeting," though that one is easily fixed by following his life presence, "I don't even know your name." Which happens to be really important since he likes the idea of courting his unusual possible bondmate and knowing who he is important in that concept.

His scent suddenly changes from frustrated to delighted, as if accepting a challenge and planning to enjoy it. "I know you're an army doctor and you have been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him," he pauses, "possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, possibly correct I am afraid."

He glances down at his leg, not saying anything about the fact he had been slashed by an alchemic silver bullet and shuffles his feet a bit. He has got the link between them firmly established so he will always be able to discover where his dark-haired human is but before he can reply, his human continues, his tone rather smug.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" again he walks to the door, this time even managing to slip out it before leaning in, introducing himself, "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is two-two-one B Baker Street." He clicks his tongue at him, winking, "Afternoon," he intones glancing at Mike before the door slams shut behind him.

Mike's mischievous smile changes a little as he comments, "Yeah. He's always like that."

Holding his wrist up he shows Mike the light spiral that has appeared, knowing that even though his friend was born human he can still see the wolf mark because it is in his blood.

"Really? Now that's interesting, what do you plan to do with that information?" his pack-mate questions as John leans a hip against the table.

A predatory smile curves his lips, "I plan to find out if we would work well together of course, only way to know if it is even worth the bonding. I guess I am staying in London after all."

His friend grins at him with him grinning back before both start laughing. "Well I guess I will see you at the next new moon then?"

"Full, but yes, I plan to be there for the full moon."

The two nod at each other before leaving and going their separate ways.